


Key

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 09:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John might very well be crazy in doing this, but he honestly couldn't care any less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key

John Watson presses his palms to his eyes, fighting the headache and the tears that always come with waking up to silence. No moaning and groaning about boredom. No new cases. No questionable experiments.

Nothing.

Silence.

John showers, dresses, and eats. The fridge is always stocked now. With food. There are no heads, no hands, no eyeballs.

It’s depressing.

He heads downstairs to participate in the mundaneness of life, saying goodbye to Mrs. Hudson on his way out. He resists the urge to press at his eyes again.

Then Watson bends down, checking under the mat to make sure Sherlock’s key is still there. It is routine. Wake up, mope, perhaps tear up a little, shower, eat, check the mat, work, come home, check the mat.

And then go back to sleep to silence.

John places the mat down, patting it once, before walking off to work.

(He doesn’t talk about The Key anymore. Everyone just thinks he’s crazy.)

-

It’s late evening when he returns home. Late, for him, and it messes with his routine of checking the mat, dinner, moping, and going to sleep.

He lifts up the mat.

And The Key is gone. His throat closes and he thinks that perhaps Mrs. Hudson knew and took it, because. Because. Because she thinks he’s crazy too even though she _said_ —

John swallows and unlocks the main door, heading up to the room that is theirs. Was. _Is_ theirs. Holmes and Watson, the most inseparable team.

“Mrs. Hudson, did you move something under the mat?” John asks, before heading upstairs.

“No, dear. Was there something there before?”

“Oh. No. I was just. Curious.” Someone else then. Moriarty might still be alive. Might try to convince Sherlock that when he comes home there is no longer a place—

John freezes inside the living room.

“I hope you don’t mind. But I thought that since you left a spare key I would just let myself in.”

Sherlock smiles.

Sherlock.

And.

He’s. Just standing. In the living room. With. The Key. Held out and.

John hits him.

“Alright,” Sherlock rubs his jaw, blinking thoughtfully. “I deserved that.”

“And you deserve a lot more too.” John’s voice is shaking and it’s actually quite embarrassing. “A lot more. More punches. A couple kicks.”

Sherlock waits and listens while John yells about how arrogant and insufferable he is. What a liar. A cheat. Making him watch him die like that, how awful. And the call and _why_ on Earth couldn’t he have notified John maybe about being alive?

When he finishes, he’s breathless. Sherlock raises an eyebrow. “Are you quite finished?”

“Perhaps. I’m not sure yet.”

“I am sorry. For what I did to you. But it had to be done.”

“Have you called Mycroft? Molly? Mrs. Hudson?”

Sherlock blinks and tilts his head. “No. I came to see you first.”

Watson almost cries. Almost but not quite. But just in case he does end up blubbering like a child, he yanks Sherlock into a hug.

“Don’t you ever do that again.”

“I can’t promise that.” And John knew that, a little. “But. I’m sorry for leaving you.”

“You had best better be. Idiot.”

“Thank you. For the key.”

John holds Sherlock away from him, and looks up. “I always knew you worked miracles, didn’t I?” Oh, God, the tears again. “Welcome home,” and his voice is a miserable thing. But. He doesn’t really care.

“Thank you. It feels good to be home.” And Sherlock takes his hand and squeezes.


End file.
